The Shamash Is the Tall One
Now is the hour when we turn
darkness to light.
Now is the hour when we assemble
those we love.
Now is the hour when we kindle
memory's flame.
The shamash is the tall one,
responsible for lighting the rest.
At first, these candles were oil
throwing shadows on ancient temple walls.
At first, we were few, fanatics
defying darkness and desecration.
At first, our candles were lit by those who knew,
a necklace of lights stringing the generations.
The shamash is the tall one,
responsible for lighting the rest.
In the tinder of our patchwork nation,
our small celebration has ignited
beyond its birth into a flare
of identity and remembrance.
We who are Jews use blazing menorahs
to find our way in the blinding dazzle of Christmas,
we pump our eight days of dreidl and gelt
like bellows to show we too can offer fuel for December.s joy.
even when we know little else of our own story,
we take out our necklace of lights and dress for winter,
writing new chapters in this young land that is now our home.
The shamash is the tall one,
responsible for lighting the rest.
But even if you have no memories
of beloved elders chanting a guttural holy tongue
while holding the shamash aloft at dusk,
the menorah compels us all to consider
how centuries change stories,
how celebrations reflect as much as preserve,
and how we shape consecration of our own rituals.
We can all remember
that it takes only a candle
to light the way for each other,
it takes only a candle
to gather us together,
it takes only a candle
to set alight the bonfire of memory.
The shamash is the tall one,
responsible for lighting the rest.
— Lori Rottenberg, December 2005